Each crevice is an open door,
Each opening a draft;
And I am growing chilly now—
Before and aft.
The night comes closer, darker too,
The twinkling stars, they shine,
And I am growing colder still
All down my spine!
It takes a stack of clothing then,
With style you can’t conform.
I’ve long since grabbed my old sweat shirt
To keep me warm.
That sleeping bag will heaven be
To shut out chilling cold.
It’s war against the north wind’s blast—
I’m growing bold.
How cold an August night can be,
It’s surely freezing now.
I’ve used up all our blanket pile
And caused a row!
I’m dreaming of the bright sunshine
That soon will cross the land.
O sleeping bag, my lovely friend,
I think you’re grand!
(August 1967)